


Mio Caro

by AceOfShipping



Category: Composer RPF - Fandom, Music RPF
Genre: Comforting, Fluff, M/M, Modern AU, an actual innocent little fluff collection, oneshots, pure fluff, taking care of each other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-06
Updated: 2018-11-08
Packaged: 2019-08-19 23:03:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16544003
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AceOfShipping/pseuds/AceOfShipping
Summary: Modern AU in which Bach and Vivaldi are working at the music conservatory in Vienna. Really just little fluffy oneshots to cheer up my Vivaldi-centric friend, and help her through her midterms and exams.Amuses-toi, s'il te plaît, ma chérie!





	1. Comfort to be found

It was a subtle sound. Sebastian had to walk past the door twice before he was really sure what it was, but by then it was unmistakeable. As a man who had raised many, many children, he knew the sound of crying. Even worse, he knew the sound of someone trying to cry silently, and it tore at his heart so dreadfully, that he could not keep himself in check. This was not one of his children, this was probably one of his colleagues, but even so he gently opened the door and stepped in. The room was small, nothing but a tiny storage room for music, really, in the vast halls of the music conservatory. But it was the man on his knees that Sebastian saw first, and he was the only thing that he really noticed about the room.

“Herr Vivaldi…” quietly, Sebastian closed the door behind himself. It was best only he bore witness to this. Nothing but a strangled sob came from the wretched, poor man who was all curled up and not only weeping desperately, but also heaving for breath. There was only one thing for a man with fresh and persistent parental instincts to do – Sebastian went to the floor alongside the red-haired violinist, and wrapped his arms around him. “Oh, Antonio, it will be alright. It will be alright. Ich bin hier bei dir.”

The Italian practically threw himself into the embrace, “Mi perdoni – I am – I am –“

“Shhh. Mach dir keine Sorgen. It’s alright.” with gentle, careful movements, Sebastian ran his fingers through Antonio’s stark copper hair. It worked like a spell, the man instantly relaxed and his breathing eased, “Tell me, what is the matter?” Sebastian’s voice was so soft now that it was almost a whisper.

“I-hhh I miss – I miss Venezia.” With an almost ashamed look in his eyes, the violinist shook his head at himself, “S-sorry.” He sobbed pathetically, “I feel so – ah Dio buono – I am such a – sono un idiota.”

Once again, Sebastian gently shushed the man in his arms, who continued to cling to him despite his words, “You are not an idiot, Antonio. Anything but.”

“You must think –“

“Shhh. I would never think ill of you for this.” Quite the opposite. The strict, habitual German found inspiration in the airs of passion and temper that Antonio always exuded. “Just breathe, Antonio. Breathe.” And gradually, with Sebastian's fingers soothingly threading through his copper locks, and the strong German slowly rocking him, Antonio did.


	2. Tell me stories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just to clarify - Sebastian has kids, but is not married. Because that does need clarifying for this.

It was a few days before Antonio had a chance to see the German again, partially because they were both busy with teaching, and in Sebastian’s case also with the choir, and partially because Antonio was terrified of facing those eyes again. Those eyes which had looked at him with the outmost kindness, seen him at the most pitiful that he felt he’d ever been. He feared seeing them again, despite all the gentleness and discreetness that Sebastian had treated the incident with. Sometimes just the sound of the German’s voice was enough to make him scoot into the nearest room and hide, with a pang and tightness in his chest, until the voice had passed beyond earshot. But he could not hide forever.

The teacher’s lounge, with its excellent chairs and awful coffee, set the scene for what the Italian had been trying to avoid. He was sitting in what he liked to think of as the best chair – one slightly smaller than the others, because he was not quite as tall as all the humongous Germans – and had a cup of coffee in his hands that he himself had carefully prepared, because he could not consume the black sludge that the machine produced, and then, like a breath of summer air, there was an organist sitting in the chair opposite him. Sebastian had that heavy wooden scent about him that Antonio guessed came from him having rummaged about in the organ. Was it time for the woodwinds to be oiled? Judging by the man’s slightly stained hands, it seemed to be the case. Antonio stayed quiet and hoped that, perhaps, they didn’t need to touch upon the subject of what had happened less than a week ago.

“Will you tell me about it?” Sebastian’s voice was, as always, pleasantly deep and slightly raspy, his accent making his words come from deep in his throat. When the Italian looked up, he’d tilted his head slightly in a quizzical manner.

“About what?” Antonio mumbled into his cup, trying to pretend that he wasn’t being drawn into that gaze just a moment ago.

There was a momentary pause, as Sebastian stared into his own cup, which was filled with a liquid more akin to tar in colour, “Venice.”

“Ah, non lo so…” there was so much to say, all of it wanting to spill from him at the same time, so that nothing came out at all, “She is… she is my city, and I miss her.” He tried somewhat tamely.

“She?”

“Si Venezia is a lady, of course.” Antonio sighed wantonly, leaning back in his chair, “She is elegant like that, no? Beautiful, supple, strong. When we have acqua alta, we hardly mind at all. People just go to the restaurant in – Dio what is the word – ah, waders.”

Sebastian took a sip of his – Antonio hesitated to call it coffee, “Acqua alta?”

“High water. She stands on – ah, words, words – on ah, stilts, capisce? So when there’s high water, there’s high water.” The Venetian shrugged, “Usually we have aqua alta a few times a year, but a little flood never killed anyone.”

A little amused snort sounded from behind the German’s coffee cup, “So you get flooded periodically on an annual basis, and you don’t care?” he sounded equal measures impressed and amused.

“Si. The siren always gives us warning. One tone, just wellingtons, two, rubber boots all the way to the knees, three and we get out the waders.” Antonio looked at the nearly-empty coffee cup in the hands of the man across from him. Sebastian wasn’t all that intimidating, when it came down to it, “Did you ever consider real caffè?”

Sebastian paused in the middle of knocking back the last drops, and slowly lowered his cup, “What do you mean?”

“Well, there’s a proper Italian cafè just down the street, it would do you good to get something that isn’t that horrible acqua sporta.” As always excessively Italian, Antonio made a grimace just thinking about drinking what the German did every day, “Oh mio Dio.”

There was a moment of silence as Sebastian thought. Surely, there might be an underlying idea to this. “And you were planning to go as well, I imagine?”

“Naturally.” Antonio replied with the greatest pretended indifference in the world, “Otherwise how would you expect to be able to read the menu?”

With a huff, Sebastian leaned back in his chair, “Das ist ein Argument, ja.”

“So?”

“You haven’t actually asked me a question.” The German pointed out.

Antonio put his coffee down on the little table between them. It was cold by now. For a moment, he fidgeted with a loose thread in his slacks. He should really go buy a new pair, but he wanted Italian ones, and they were so expensive… “Will you go out with me?”

“Nun ja, since you’ve asked so nicely.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations!  
> Italian -   
> Non lo so: I don't know  
> Capisce: understand?  
> Acqua sporta: Dirty water, aka. what Italians apparently call non-Italian coffee. I don't disagree with them.
> 
> German -  
> Das ist ein Argument: Good point (lit. that is an argument)  
> Nun ja: Well yes
> 
> Author's note: Viv tried to be all careful and savvy, but if you want anything at all from a German you gotta ask, Viv! No way around that, they're too damn pragmatic. Danes too, for that matter (not that anyone's asking me out).

**Author's Note:**

> Translations   
> German:  
> Ich bin hier bei dir - I am here (lit. I am here by you)  
> Mach dir keine Sorgen - It's alright (lit. make yourself no sorrows)
> 
> Italian:  
> Mi perdoni - forgive me  
> Dio buono - Good God  
> Sono un idiota - I am an idiot


End file.
